Behind the Deal
by Canon-Fire
Summary: Alternative take on 'Alive at Five'. Face doesn't want to live under Stockwell anymore. But Stockwell likes things done his way.


**Behind the Deal**

"You put me in an awkward position, Lieutenant."

Face gazed at him.

"Would you care to swap?" He asked genially. It wasn't particularly easy to speak through the pain of having his arms pinioned behind his back at such an angle, but he managed his trademark dazzling smile.

It was then that Stockwell did something truly surprising. He hit his smart-mouthed guest across the face with the back of a hand. _Hard._

Interesting, Face pondered, flexing his jaw. It had not surprised him in the least, to discover the tail he'd picked up on his third day of freedom was one of Stockwell's men. It had infuriated, but not surprised him, that despite shaking the tail he'd spotted he'd been caught and outnumbered by more of the general's goons. That they were more than a little bit heavy handed while bringing him back to the compound, he could have predicted. That Stockwell had him thrown in a hitherto unmentioned dungeon beneath the team's living area, was something of a curveball, but very like the General.

The sting of his cheek, the uncontrolled venom in Stockwell's eyes as he lashed out without grace or purpose, that surprised him. Stockwell was many things, but uncontrolled, quick of temper, anything that might roughly describe spontaneity, was not among them.

"O...kay." Face gazed up at Stockwell, an open question in his blue eyes. He was after all, held on his knees at the general's feet, arms twisted so hard by two goons there was sweat pouring down his face. How threatened could Stockwell realistically feel?

"We had a deal." Stockwell growled.

"Oh." Face didn't laugh, but only because Stockwell's self-righteous anger had stirred something deeper than his usual urge to infuriate all who had him at a disadvantage.

"Did we? Here was me thinking you were blackmailing us." He smiled.

Stockwell didn't blink, insistent glare flickering only in response to having his statement refuted. No sign at all he might question the validity of his anger.

"You agreed to my proposal." He asserted dismissively.

"What choice exactly did I have?" Face questioned. He glanced pointedly at the goons. They tightened their grip enough to make him grimace.

"I do not take being double crossed lightly." Stockwell's eyes flashed.

"How does me leaving constitute double crossing you?" Face asked, voice strained with the effort of looking up at the general, though he maintained a mask of polite interest.

"The terms of our 'deal' were we carry out missions for you, you get us pardoned. So if I leave, I don't carry out those missions, I don't get a pardon, no harm no foul."

Stockwell smiled at that.

"You don't really expect me to believe that's what you thought would happen?"

"I didn't think anything other than that I didn't want to be here." Face had meant to sound angry, to remind Stockwell he did have a dangerous side, but years of practice tended to pull politeness out of him even when he had no intention of being polite. He sounded almost laughably reasonable.

"You don't own me. If the others want to stay and wait for you to come good, that's their call, but my understanding of a deal is that entering into one is a choice."

"A choice you made, when you used my ticket out of military custody." Stockwell spoke in a soft, certain, deeply unsettling tone.

For the first time, Face saw red.

"Your ticket out?" He growled. "Correct me if I'm wrong, General, but _'_ _I could not assist three federal prisoners, convicted of murder, in escaping'_ , those were your exact words were they not?"

"If I hadn't-"

"If you hadn't what, exactly?!" Face taunted. "Generously gassed Murdock and Frankie after letting them know where we were? Relied on an innocent man to risk his own hide to get us out? Or maybe, if you hadn't left a card carrying mental patient to hope that we hadn't all just been shot, until you decide to pull your damn rabbit out of your hat." He spat. He was incensed by the memories as much as by Stockwell's absurd sense of injury.

Murdock's plan to get them out had been a stroke of brilliance. Brilliance they all knew he had in spades. But whatever else he was, he had also been a psychiatric patient for over a decade. Stockwell had said that whoever certified him needed his license revoked. Every member of the A-team had thought the same at one time or another. But at that time, Stockwell had only seen the focused Murdock. The one that explained why the best commando team in the states accepted a lunatic into their ranks. Because he was capable of brilliance beyond every one of them, when needed.

Stockwell had not at that time, seen the other side. The side that saw invisible dogs and fixated on ideas and characters with an intensity which could not be broken through with plea nor threat. Whatever it was that made Murdock different, be it insanity or mere eccentricity, he had been institutionalised for over a decade. Happy to be so. He used his oddities as a shield, which meant he needed a shield against something. The real world, perhaps. The point was, he was vulnerable. Face felt sick at the thought of what he must have felt, wondering if his plan had worked. Whether the rest of the team and all he had in the world, were dead.

"Your ingratitude is impressive, Lieutenant." Stockwell announced, heedless of Face's anger. "I saved your lives! If I hadn't had your bodies picked up you would have been discovered and killed immediately. And without me, you would have been caught and had your sentence carried out twice over by now."

"If it wasn't for you setting us up we wouldn't have been caught in the first place!" Face shot back. "We were sentenced to ten years until you came along, suddenly we're facing a firing squad. And I had no concerns about staying hidden. I can evade the military, the government, as many bad guys as you could ask. It's _you_ , I can't seem to find a way past. You say you saved our lives as if we should be thanking you. You wanted the A-team and you got us. Now you don't want to give up one of your toys."

His head rung as Stockwell hit him again. They were by no means the strongest blows Face had ever suffered, not least because the General had yet to use a closed fist. Clearly, he wanted Face conscious.

"As I said. You put me in an awkward position." Stockwell breezed as though nothing else had been said since.

"We had an agreement, which you broke. I should turn you in and let the military carry out their sentence, but this would inevitably make the news and that would be... distracting."

Face smirked.

"Distracting." He repeated mockingly. Distracting as in the team would know and would raise hell to get him out, or should he be executed before they could, to find out who caught him and get revenge.

"I cannot imagine why you look so smug, Lieutenant." Stockwell went on, suddenly far too calm for Face's taste.

"The agreement was made on behalf of the entire team. Your desertion risked their pardons as well as your own."

Anger flooded his mind, fogged by just a hint of panic. Was it possible he'd left the others to their deaths? Clarity settled on him quickly. None of them had protested his exit. They must have believed they could square it with Stockwell. Besides, the general was rather more pragmatic than that.

"Right, cos you'd give up the Colonel just to spite me."

To Face's enormous surprise, Stockwell smiled at that. Apparently he was willing to admit that Hannibal Smith on his payroll was an asset with which he was unwilling to part.

"Perhaps not." Stockwell smirked, making Face feel instantly uneasy.

"I cannot, however, have you running amok. As much as I would dearly like to hand you over to the military, that is also a non-viable option."

"Then what?" Face asked, somewhat uncertain.

Stockwell brightened, which did nothing to calm the apprehension growing in Face's gut.

"You will rejoin your team. But before that, you will remain my guest here, until I am convinced you will do so quietly and without fuss."

 _Reading between the lines..._

"So, if I agree to come back and not to tell the others you caught me, you'll let me?" Face sneered, disgusted even by Stockwell standards. Let his friends go on believing Stockwell might be a genuine ally, so that the general wouldn't hand him back to the firing squad.

He felt a cold chill as Stockwell beamed at him.

"Oh no, Lieutenant. You must take me for a fool. _When_ you agree to return without fuss, _if_ I am convinced, then you will do so. I should warn you, however, I am less easily fooled than your usual hapless marks."

He took a step back and nodded to the two men holding Face. He had no time to try to guess at what Stockwell meant, before the goons were on him.

He hit the stone floor with a clatter, the air rushing out of him even as he rolled sideways and took one of their legs out from under him. Fists landed while he fought and struggled. He broke at least one nose. He made it all the way to the bars of the cell and put every last ounce of strength he had into one massive screw you to Stockwell's proposed agreement.

 _"HANNIBAL!_ -Ugh-"

Two fists hit his gut so hard his vision exploded with light. For several, highly disquieting seconds, he could neither move nor breathe.

In the pause, Stockwell spoke in his usual blunt, authoritarian tone.

"Get him comfortable. And make sure he stays quiet. No one's hearing anything down here but I wouldn't put it past the A-team to have bugged my house with my own bugs."

If he wasn't trying so hard to drag air into locked lungs, Face might have smiled.

* * *

Four days.

He had understood the moment Stockwell gave his orders to his goons, what exactly his agreement entailed. He knew if he let Face join his team again, he'd tell them what had happened.

More than that, he knew that to get out of the dungeon, Face would tell him anything he wanted to hear and make it convincing. He'd play nice for a few days, maybe even do a mission without complaint. But he'd still tell the team exactly who had caught him, sooner or later.

No, Stockwell didn't want an agreement. He wanted submission. He wanted Face to see the alternative to doing it his way was extremely unpleasant. He clearly intended to keep showing him, until Face begged to be allowed back to the team and Stockwell could believe he wouldn't risk being the reason the others faced the same fate.

He'd been driving this point home with considerable vim for four days now. Face was beginning to lose his sense of humour.

The bars rattled. He shuddered and tried to keep it on the inside. The scrape of metal on concrete, the slosh of water against the metal tub, alerted him to the shape today's interrogation would take. Stockwell didn't mix it up much, he couldn't help but notice. Water. Electricity. Fists. Other people's, rather than his own of course.

What he lacked in imagination, he made up for in efficacy. Face could not deny he was struggling. Stockwell's methods were ...relentless, was maybe the word.

But through days of interrogation, there was only ever one question. It didn't seem to matter which answer Face gave, though he always gave the same one.

As the cell opened on the fourth day, he raised his head and looked up at Stockwell.

"Will you be joining us today, Lieutenant?" Stockwell almost purred.

The fact that Face couldn't answer was clearly of no relevance to him. In the absence of an option to fight, Face simply stayed still, ignoring Stockwell, knowing it would infuriate him.

It did indeed prompt him to act quickly. He freed Face to speak almost immediately, leaving him gasping in pain.

"Well?"

Face grinned at him, blood trickling down his chin where the tape ripping off had split his lip open.

"General. Please make your way directly to hell."

Satisfying. The way the goons growled and cracked their knuckles. The way Stockwell's eyes glittered in a strange combination of anger, envy and pride.

But then the world went dark and inverted and Face was drowning.

For the moment, he was annoying Stockwell. He was resisting interrogation as he had done many, many times before. All the while, there was a distracting and relentless thought gaining ground in the back of his mind.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't fight alone, with no prospect of victory. Worse, with no real understanding of what he wanted to happen or how to get it. He needed air so badly his head was screaming in pain. He couldn't do it. His reserves were running out.

* * *

General Stockwell was angry.

This was taking far too long. Seven days, this impossible man had been under his roof and while he showed every sign of being on the verge of breaking, he was absolutely refusing to go past the verge.

There were no more smart comments even when given the chance. He didn't struggle at all in each interrogation session. They'd been at this one for four hours. A combination of water boarding and electric shock. He had taken both amazingly well to begin with, which reminded the general that all of his A-Team 'partners' were valuable assets, but his resistance was waning. He no longer snarled at Stockwell when asked to rejoin his team, he simply ignored the question.

They shoved his head underwater again but he didn't respond. If he was unconscious, he would breathe and then be dead very quickly.

Ordering his men to stop, Stockwell watched impassively as they took out their annoyance at their subject's silence with their fists. He grunted and flinched enough to reassure Stockwell he was alive and still conscious to some extent.

In the dark and cramped crawl space between the cell ceiling and the ground floor of Langley, another man watched in silence.

The prisoner he watched was in bad shape. He could tell even from the little of him he could see. While the silent observer had been watching, the prisoner had jerked and squirmed and shook his way through rounds of electric shock, while his hooded head was periodically shoved in a trough of water. Generally, while he was breathing hard and fast on the back of a particularly vicious shock.

It was a familiar pattern. Painful, terrifying, but intentionally non-lethal. Barely even left marks. The general and his men would be unfortunate if their captor's heart stopped, or he developed pneumonia fast from fluid in the lungs but aside from those vague possibilities, he was not going to die. He might well wish he was. This was torture in the hands of an expert.

Eventually, when their subject had stopped so much as squirming, he was released from the hold of two men and allowed to drop to the floor, which did not help him much. Partly, because his passivity earned him three vicious fists to the abdomen, ending in a muted groan, but mostly, because he was bound hand and foot and being held by the goons did very little to alter how trapped he was.

His arms were tied behind his back, but he was also tied at the elbows, which looked extremely uncomfortable. Presumably, they expected him to attempt to escape and this was meant to thwart him. Apparently, it had done.

His ankles were bound together, as were his knees. They really were taking no chances. As they pulled the soaked hood from his head, the observer above saw that the prisoner's mouth was taped shut. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing sped up and gained in volume, as he attempted to breathe clear air through his nose. His hidden observer was able to confirm the man's identity at least, though really, once he'd discovered Stockwell's secret prison cell, he'd harboured few doubts.

Lieutenant Templeton Peck had looked better. He'd looked worse too, but he was certainly down on his luck.

He had wondered why the unfortunate Lieutenant had not been in touch. He didn't expect a video diary, but a confirmation he was alive wouldn't have gone amiss. He could be somewhat self involved, but it was unusual for him to be thoughtless. It answered the observer's questions at least.

He'd known something was going on when Stockwell spent so much time in the house, appearing and disappearing multiple times in a week with only vague mentions of an upcoming mission. Admittedly, this had not been the first thing to spring to mind.

In the cell, Peck was barely conscious. His eyes rolled upwards as the General - the other man who had silently observed most of the proceedings - took his chin in his hand. With a calm, merciless yank, he ripped the tape from his prisoner's mouth.

"Well, Lieutenant?" He asked over the sound of noisy, laboured breathing.

Stockwell was answered with stubborn silence. The observer wasn't sure what the question was of course and indeed, he had some doubts that it's addressee did either at this point. What was absolutely clear, was that Stockwell had been playing this game for some time and was growing impatient.

Just when it seemed Peck would pass out having his interrogator's finger prints bruised into his skin, glazed blue eyes burned into focus. He muttered something unintelligible.

"What was that?" The general asked. He was smiling. Pleased with himself for getting a response of any kind. Subsequently, he was barely an inch away from his captor's face, when he made himself heard.

 _"Hannibal...s'gonna...get you for this."_

The other man glared at him for a moment, while the observer held his breath. The Lieutenant's head dropped as the interrogator released his grip. Despite the anger clear in his stance, there was a note of horrible calm in his voice as he replied.

"Are you sure about that?" Stockwell asked lightly.

He began to pace while Peck struggled to raise his head.

"If Colonel Smith makes a move against me, bang goes any chance of a pardon for he, Baracas or Santana." He paused to once more lift Peck's head by his chin.

"Are you sure, they'll give that up, for the selfish, ungrateful brat who walked out on them?"

It was possible, but unlikely, that Stockwell missed it. It was absolutely certain that the observer did not. Doubt, in blue eyes which had shown a man hanging on by a thread. Stockwell gestured to his men to silence him once more, watching as a groan of frustration was quickly muted.

It may have been because Stockwell honestly didn't know he had just achieved whatever aim he'd been working for, or just to make his captor suffer more, but whatever the reason, the general left it at that.

He left, locking the cell behind him, possibly unaware that if he'd asked the question again, the mysterious _'Well, Lieutenant?'_ he would have gotten the answer he wanted.

The observer waited until Stockwell and his men had left, then waited ten minutes more. It was a little odd that Stockwell had left nobody guarding his secret dungeon. He would have suspected a camera network but he had been concealed in his hiding place for long enough to have scoped and eliminated all possible areas for hidden cameras and found no trace. In fact, the generator they'd been using on their prisoner, supported his suspicions there was no electricity in the dungeon and it had to be a signal dead zone. If there were cameras, which he doubted he'd miss, they weren't on a live feed.

It made a certain amount of sense. Stockwell did not appear to be as bound by the law as normal citizens who were not wanted by the military, but even he could be caught out. If he did have an unexpected military police raid, he needed plausible deniability. No trace of him, or his men, could be found in his personal prison cells.

By the time he was sure enough to move, the cell occupant had fallen still and silent.

Face didn't hear the carbon ceiling tile being shifted out of place, nor the movement above him as a reasonably heavy body moved as carefully as possible, lowering itself into his cell. He had no reason to think Stockwell and his goons would be back before the next day and he planned to spend the interim time asleep, or trying to sleep, ignoring unhelpful voices in his head telling him he couldn't win. That he hadn't even managed to properly infuriate Stockwell and that he couldn't imagine ever being able to feel his hands and feet again. He had quickly learned to block out the sounds of movement from above him. Distracting and unhelpful.

A hand clenched on his shoulder without warning and he fought the urge to groan aloud. Had that cretin not gone yet?

The hand hurt, pressing down on bruised muscles as it pulled him over onto his back, but Face would be damned before he let Stockwell know it. The hand loosened suddenly, before moving to his bicep, no longer grasping. He heard a voice and wanted to tell it get lost. He couldn't of course and besides, he knew he had to give in. Agree. Give in, get out of the basement, find a non-recorded time to tell the team Stockwell was a bloody psychopath and they need to get their pardons asap then run like the wind.

He gasped and tried to turn his head away as the tape was removed from his mouth. He couldn't help noticing the action was gentler than normal, though it still hurt like hell.

 _"Face!"_ The voice sounded impatient in a way far more familiar than Stockwell's annoyance at not getting his own way.

He opened his eyes. _What..._

"Hannibal?" He whispered. He had tried to speak out loud but his voice wasn't up to the task.

"How's freedom going, kid?" Hannibal asked with a smirk.

It was so unexpected Face almost laughed. There was nothing in the world he would put past his team, but he had not thought it possible they could find out he was here.

Face started to smile and shake his head at the same time as he rolled back onto his side, disbelief beating alarm to the punch, but not by much.

"How? -Hannibal you need to get outta here." He croaked. When Stockwell found out...

"Exactly the plan. Can you stand?" Hannibal enquired, entirely ignoring Face's fearful insistence he leave.

"Not currently, no." Face glanced down his prone body at the ropes binding his ankles and knees. "Hannibal, I'm serious. Stockwell-"

Hannibal cut him off, shifting position until he was kneeling beside his feet, Face's back to him.

"Just let me worry about Stockwell." He stated, going to work on the first set of knots.

Face bit back an exclamation of pain as the ropes cut into his ankles. The friction burns were agonising.

"You don't understand-" He spoke somewhat breathlessly, though pleased to note his voice was gaining strength. "Stockwell-"

He got no further once again, as Hannibal's voice suddenly hardened.

"Stockwell caught you, brought you back here and is blackmailing you." He pulled the first set of ropes free, prompting a wince. "What I miss?"

"Your pardons, when he finds out you were here." Face murmured at the ceiling. He did not have the energy to fight Hannibal. He had so far not managed to put any serious thought into sitting up, let alone standing as Hannibal had so optimistically suggested.

"I thought you knew me better than that, Face." Hannibal grinned from behind him. He couldn't see the grin, but he knew it was there. He could hear it.

Face had not yet thought of a response, when Hannibal grunted in frustration. The dark of the cell was making the second set of ropes more difficult. He worked for a moment longer, before the ropes around Face's knees were also gone, freeing his legs for the first time in seven days. He would have been pleased, except numbness was slowly being replaced by hot, sharp, muscle weakening pain.

Hannibal moved back towards his head and threaded his hands under Face's underarms, which was not a position from which he could realistically undo the remaining two sets of ropes.

"Hannibal-" It was almost a whine, cut off by a gasp for air as Hannibal pulled him to his feet without warning, his arms still bound behind him.

"I'll have to untie your arms upstairs. We're a little short of time." Hannibal told him, though the absolute lack of alarm in his voice seemed to defy his words.

Face was too busy gritting his teeth and trying not to scream to reply. His legs wouldn't support him, leaning almost all of his weight into Hannibal's grip. He would have dearly loved to have asked if he had a plan, mostly because the mere suggestion he might not have would be highly enjoyable to watch, but speaking was entirely beyond him at that moment. Instead, he remained a passive observer to one of Hannibal's more ingeniously simplistic escapes. He held Face upright with one arm, picked the cell lock with the other before repeating the same procedure a minute later at the top of the stairs leading up to the house. Stockwell would hardly be watching to see if Face walked out of the front door, which showed he really didn't know the A-Team very well. Face assumed without needing to ask, that any security cameras covering the door to the cellar in the house, had been disabled.

The fact that Hannibal more or less had to carry Face out of the dungeon, improved neither man's mood. With Face's hands still tied, Hannibal couldn't pull an arm across his shoulders and take his weight mostly on his back as was normal when one of them was incapacitated. Instead, he threaded his left arm under Face's underarms and pretty much dragged him up the stairs. Face would have liked to have been more help than he was, but the world around him had dissolved into one big haze of pain and confusion. He moved where he was pulled and tried to keep his feet under him.

It took forever, but they made it. Out of the cellar, through the house and into the relative safety of Hannibal's suite. Face crouched on the floor of Hannibal's room, panting, seeing double, trying very hard to blink away the closing grey of his vision.

Hannibal watched as Face sank to the ground. He was straining against his bound arms, breath quickening as the ropes rubbed. He looked beyond exhausted. From the way he was hunched over, Hannibal guessed he had more injuries than were immediately visible. Though Stockwell's primary form of interrogation left very few marks, his goons had been somewhat more heavy handed. Sweat and dirt streaked down his face, but Hannibal couldn't help noticing there was very little bruising there. He wondered idly if Stockwell knew the _'anywhere but the face'_ rule.

"Hang on, Kid." He murmured as he went to work on the ropes around his wrists and elbows.

Bang on time, just as he had planned, BA and Murdock joined them as Hannibal was struggling with viciously tight knots.

"Faceman! Where'd you come from?" Murdock exclaimed, running forward on sight of Face and coming to a screeching halt as he saw Hannibal kneeling behind him.

BA took in the scene at a more considered pace, glancing at Face, scanning the room then giving Face and Hannibal his full attention. He dropped to one knee next to Hannibal and pulled out a switchblade.

As the ropes fell free suddenly, Face let out a sharp gasp, sitting up slowly, still fighting for breath.

"Hi guys..." He breathed, smiling broadly at his team mates.

BA's eyes widened as he saw the dark circles under Face's eyes, his chapped and dry lips, skin pale and sunken around sharp cheek bones.

"Damn, Face. What happened?"

He was echoed by Murdock, who as ever, sounded wholly wrong when making sense.

Hannibal ignored their questions, helping Face up and depositing him on the bed, where he sat with his head in one hand, the other wrapped around his middle. Shallow coughs forced their way passed bruised ribs. Murdock watched, wide eyed and concerned, while BA's frown deepened.

Eyes screwed shut, Face saw none of this. He also didn't see Hannibal standing back, arms folded across his chest, slowly puffing on his cigar, while Murdock sat down next to Face and BA stood sentinel over him. He was thinking about Stockwell. Thinking about how he'd spent his afternoon.

"Hannibal, I gotta get outta here." Face moaned into his hands, breaking the Colonel out of his thoughts. He had wondered why his obviously exhausted lieutenant had not taken the chance to lie down. It couldn't have been comfortable to remain sitting up while his blood began properly flowing again. Clearly, he was not planning on staying long.

"What do you mean? You only just got here!" Murdock protested. He placed a hand on Face's shoulder, squeezing hard and prompting him to look up and meet his confused gaze.

"You aint going nowhere fool, you can barely stand." B.A put in impatiently. His glare had reached a level it only ever did when he was worried.

Face looked between the two, his expression familiar. He didn't know what to say, but nor was he willing to remain silent. His eyes slid off to one side, flailing for inspiration while his mouth opened, ready to deliver the first placating thought that entered his head.

His gaze caught Hannibal's before his fatigued mind could come to his rescue.

"Why the hurry, Face?" Hannibal asked when Face looked up at him, a trapped gleam in tired eyes.

"Didn't you miss us muchacho?" Murdock teased, his voice playful, the worry in his face entirely real.

Face's head drooped, a heavy sigh escaping him. Of course he'd missed them. He would have missed them more than he was sure he could live with, even if he had actually made good his escape.

"You have no idea." He muttered at his lap.

Hannibal felt rarely shown genuine sympathy spread across his face. Given what he'd seen from his hiding place that afternoon, _he_ at least had some idea.

"You don't understand." Face tried to explain, his slightly-softer-than-usual voice heavy with effort.

"If I stay, Stockwell won't give you your pardons. He'll know...you helped me." He looked to Hannibal again, who continued to watch him in silence.

In truth, he had not yet decided what to do. Not fully, at least. He had an idea brewing of course. Many fond imaginings on how best to get revenge on Stockwell. But those, Hannibal knew would most likely have to remain imaginings. Stockwell had spoken the truth, three months earlier, when he had outlined the very minimal choices their elevated wanted status gave them.

"I don't get it." Murdock spoke, looking between Face and Hannibal, watching their silent exchange in confusion. He looked to BA and found he looked equally bemused, which on BA meant he looked angry. As far as they knew, Face had gotten into difficulty and Hannibal had been able to get him back to Langley. Or maybe he'd gotten there himself and Hannibal had just taken him in. Whatever level of involvement Hannibal had in Face's escape from whatever misadventure had befallen him, they couldn't see why Stockwell would expect any different.

The mysterious general had in fact said very little about the absence of one of the team from the house. He had asked when Face had been gone for just over a day, where he was. The team had feigned ignorance and complete nonchalance, as though he most likely had a date. Stockwell had seemed to accept this. He'd been in and out of Langley far more frequently than usual since and had not seemed to notice the missing lieutenant.

It was BA who voiced the question.

"Why's Stockwell gonna care Hannibal helped you, why wouldn't he?"

Hannibal saw Face blink hard, staring downwards at his hands, still absentmindedly massaging his arms, trying to keep his grip away from two sets of gruesome ligature wounds.

 _Enough._

"It was Stockwell that caught him." Hannibal supplied quietly. He was entirely unsuccessful in keeping his honest initial reaction from his voice. Face's head snapped up at the sound. Barely leashed rage.

There was a sort of stunned silence, while BA and Murdock stared at their colonel, trying to pull meaning from his statement.

For the second time, BA got there first. He looked at Face's bruised and burned wrists and arms, the ropes lying on the floor beside the bed.

"Stockwell did that?" He asked, somewhere between disbelief and fury.

Hannibal nodded slowly. Murdock tightened his grip on Face's shoulder, eyes locked on Hannibal, waiting for him to explain, or give them an order.

"You were right about one thing, Face." Hannibal commented softly.

Shoulders slowly slumping under Murdock's unyielding hands, Face gazed up at Hannibal wearily.

"I'm gonna get him."

"No." Face stood up abruptly, taking a step towards Hannibal. His progress halted at one step. He closed his eyes. The combined sensation of paralysing weakness in his legs against the rush of vertigo at standing up under his own steam for the first time in over a week, took his breath away.

At least it gave Murdock something to do. He let himself be lowered back on to the bed, legs buckling underneath him.

"Hannibal." He breathed when he was able to speak. He sounded alarmed, but he was relieved to hear it was his usual level of alarm, the same one he used every time Hannibal outlined another plan which was almost certainly going to end with a fight against ridiculous odds.

"If Stockwell comes back and I'm here, what do you think he's going to say? ' _Welcome back, Peck, how's your week been?'_ "

Hannibal smiled, shaking his head.

"The question you should be asking Face, is what do _you_ thinkhe's going to say? _'What are you doing here, you're meant to be locked in my basement?'_ "

Face was already refusing, ignoring BA and Murdock's exclamations of disgust at this newest revelation. The two of them stood over him like armed guards. He wasn't entirely sure whether this was intended protectively, or to prevent him leaving as proposed.

"No, no, no." He spoke with vehemence, realising Hannibal was seriously planning on allowing that exact scene to play out.

"If he thinks he's lost control, he'll turn us all in."

"Why?" Hannibal asked, keeping his voice infuriatingly calm and reasonable.

"That won't benefit him in the least."

Face ran his fingers through his hair, still shaking his head. Despite his best intentions, Hannibal could see his own attitude was driving Face to panic.

"You think if he comes back tomorrow and I'm just standing here like nothing happened, he'll just go along with it?!" The younger man breathed.

Hannibal pasted on his best wounded look.

"Face, am I not a renowned actor?" He asked innocently.

Face smothered a smile, surprise prompting a heavy breath of laughter. He had never known laughter take quite so much energy to produce. He could quite cheerfully have laid down where he was and gone to sleep for a week.

"Oh, would I suggest otherwise?" He murmured instead.

"You answered a question with a question, which suggests subterfuge." Murdock interjected with absolute sincerity.

"Thanks Murdock." Face smiled. He took a deep breath, one hand moving to his ribs, while he looked Hannibal dead in the eye.

"Colonel. You have no idea how Stockwell will react to me escaping. You three can't risk your pardons, for me."

There it was, Hannibal mused, keeping his expression his usual half-amused calm.

"Cos you left?" He asked, with honest interest. The members of the team had, after all, risked far more than pardons for each other before.

He didn't want to be so blunt, but he knew what he'd seen in Stockwell's dungeon. Face had been taken in by the general's heavy implication. That he had walked out on them. That for that reason, he no longer warranted his place on the team who would risk and frequently _had_ risked life and limb for each other.

It was a belated realisation for Face, that if the colonel had heard him tell Stockwell that Hannibal would get him, he had presumably also heard Stockwell's response. Heard Face's failure to offer anything in return. He had not been able to muster a reply, because he knew Stockwell was a manipulative bastard and more dangerous than even Face had suspected. But he was right. Face had chosen to leave the team.

He sighed heavily, wanting to explain. It was an odd contrast, wanting the other three to be angry or indignant enough to listen to him, but also needing them to understand. Leaving them had never been the point.

"I wanted to be away from Stockwell, not you. But he's right. I made my own bed, I don't need to make yours for you."

If he was expecting them to accept the validity of this, he was sorely disappointed.

"That's crazy Faceman, we a team." BA growled.

Face turned to him, blue eyes flashing.

"Which I left."

BA did not so much as blink.

"Just cos you aint with the team at the time something goes wrong, don't mean you aint still in it."

"Yeah, like the whole time I was at the VA." Murdock put in.

"Come on, you didn't really have a choice about that, Murdock." Face gave him a half smile, turning back to BA to argue with him too, but Murdock wasn't finished.

"Nah, I just coincidentally got out just as the team relocate to the east coast."

Face blinked at him. If he didn't know better he would have thought Murdock had just admitted to faking insanity. The thought occurred immediately, he could just as easily and rather more plausibly, be faking sanity.

He didn't let the puzzle distract him for long. In either case, Murdock had shown extraordinary loyalty to the team.

"...Which you did in order to stay with the team. I didn't like the way things were going so I left."

"Face, I'm not sure who you're trying to convince here." Hannibal commented. He was leaning against the wall, arms still folded, still puffing on his cigar as if they were chatting about the weather. Not that that would be normal for them either.

"You suggested we all get away from Stockwell. Remarkable foresight as it turns out. We said no and stayed, you went. I can't see that it's any different to me choosing to travel around with film crews. I never required the team to stay in one place or to make all of the same decisions. Just to be there when needed, which to my memory, has never been in question." Despite his relaxed stance, he fixed Face with a piercing stare.

"But hey if you wanna leave, the door's open. We won't say a word to Stockwell."

It was ridiculous, that Face felt a stab of hurt at the offer. He had tried to tell them that that was what had to happen, but Hannibal was far from agreeing with him. This was an offer of a different kind. They didn't believe he had left them behind in choosing not to take Stockwell's deal for a pardon. But if he had, he could walk out now and show them that's what he really wanted.

Which of course, it was not. It hadn't been when he left and it certainly wasn't at that moment. What he'd wanted at the time, was for the team to agree to come with him. He supposed that was Hannibal's point, that if he wasn't mad at them for not listening to him, they couldn't be upset with him for going his own way.

He knew he was right. He knew the team existed whether or not they stayed together geographically. He knew Stockwell had gotten inside his head. On a purely practical note, he knew he couldn't physically leave at that moment. Remaining sitting upright was taking everything he had. He wanted to agree. Let Hannibal concoct his undoubtedly crazy plan and see where it led.

But he remembered their last stint in military custody and quite wanted to vomit.

"I don't want us to go back to the firing squad, Hannibal." He almost whispered.

There was a dark glint in Hannibal's eyes as he stepped forward, grasping Face's shoulders with both hands. The faint note of desperation in Face's voice, stirred a near-primitive fury in the colonel. His smile had more than a passing note of the hyena about it.

"Then follow the plan." He grinned.

There was not a lot Face could say to that. He shook his head, but was somehow agreeing, which earned him a whoop from Murdock and a grin from BA, who stepped up to Hannibal's shoulder.

"He don't look so good Hannibal." He pointed out bluntly.

"No." Hannibal agreed, giving Face's arm a pat and releasing him.

"You better sit this one out, Kid."

"I'm okay." Face muttered, making a second, much gentler effort to stand, in the hope of making it to the shower. At some point he would have to learn the details of Hannibal's plan and he had no doubt he was going to hate it. Before that happened, he wanted a long, long shower and a desperately needed change of clothes. Perhaps a ritual burning of the blood and sweat caked shirt and khakis he'd been wearing for seven days.

He achieved none of these aims. Instead, he swayed into Murdock, who grabbed him with one arm.

"You're just beautiful as always, Faceman." Murdock grinned down at him. "But why dontcha lie down before Hannibal gets BA's night night juice."

"What?" BA demanded, spinning to face Hannibal as though he'd been threatened.

"Nothing, BA." Hannibal said hurriedly. "Face, let's get you cleaned up, then we'll talk about Stockwell."

Face was aware that when Hannibal said 'cleaned up' he was referring to multiple wounds which needed treating. While he was not looking forward to that process, Hannibal's suggestion was about as close to a mirror of Face's own thoughts as he supposed he could hope for.

* * *

Face eased his way down the wall, sitting in the bottom of the shower and letting the water hammer down on him. After the initial, utterly irrational panic at the all too familiar sensation of water in his face, it felt so good he could have stayed there all day.

Hannibal had given him fifteen minutes, so he wouldn't. But still, fifteen minutes was positively decadent by army standards. Hannibal was being nice. Possibly because as soon as Face got out of the shower, he was going to stop being nice.

Face watched the water run reddish brown and gritty into the drain. Seven days of grime, sweat and dried blood. Good though it felt, Face was in rather a lot of pain.

His muscles screamed at every movement, frozen and uncooperative after a week in one position for almost all of the time. He was thankful for small mercies, in that Stockwell's regimented interrogation routine had meant he was dragged around by the goons for a few hours a day, which was probably the thing that had kept his blood flowing even slightly, the only reason his limbs were still functioning at all. Stockwell had been taking absolutely no chances on his reputation for baffling escapes. He had ordered the goons not to untie him for any reason, including his daily trips to the water closet next to his cell. He was grateful at least that Stockwell hadn't left him to void his bladder where he slept, but he couldn't say those had been in his top five moments of a deeply unenjoyable stay.

As he let the hot water loosen his muscles, he took stock of the rest of this body. His wrists were badly cut and burned by the ropes. His upper arms, ankles and knees had escaped with just quite a lot of bruising. His abdomen was black and blue, the sharp pain in his chest on breathing in hailed cracked ribs, his stomach cramped from lack of food and his throat was raw.

"Face?"

He did hear the voice, but felt somehow disconnected as he answered. He wasn't entirely sure what he said. But he was warm and moving meant pain...

"Face, everything alright?" Hannibal had that gruff sound that was somewhere between concerned and ready to give orders.

There was a short pause, then a different voice.

"...Face, I'm coming in." Murdock. _Heh, good choice Hannibal._ If he was just being slow in the shower, Murdock didn't have the kinds of personal boundaries that made dragging him out butt-naked awkward.

He wasn't, however. That he didn't _want_ to get out of the shower had become largely incidental beside the fact that he couldn't. It was so warm. He was tired...

The door opened. There was a pause, before footsteps brought Murdock right to him. The water stopped and Face stayed still, head hanging between his knees.

"Hey Faceman. I don't mean to criticise but I don't think this is the best place for a nap."

Face smiled to himself. He was right. Once the cloud of steam cooled he would find it very uncomfortable indeed. Still, it was... here, which was what he needed at that moment. He heard Murdock say something else, but he wasn't listening.

"Lieutenant, open your eyes." He fought back the urge to groan. Orders. He tried to force his head up, managing a blurry focus on Hannibal, eyes drooping but resolute.

Hannibal gave him a stern glare.

"I thought I said fifteen minutes."

He made an abortive attempt to explain himself, voice disappearing in a heavy sigh. It felt a bit like concussion. His head kept dropping and reality felt a little more fluid than it ought.

Hannibal and Murdock exchanged a glance as Face's awareness seemed to waiver. He was trying hard to hold Hannibal's stare, but his eyes wouldn't stay open for more than a second at a time.

Hannibal placed a hand on his forehead and pushed his head back, before pulling one eyelid open to check his pupil response. Normal. Eyes a little bloodshot. Dehydration?

"Hannibal." Face murmured softly, half in protest, wondering if he was awake enough to pull off a play for sympathy. His hands shook slightly on his knees. "M'tired."

Hannibal's expression edged into concern. Face's words were slurring together. The sudden loss of lucidity registered against Face's hunched position, one hand locked across his stomach. He was covered in bruises, as was to be expected given Stockwell's heavy handed goons, but he hadn't mentioned any injuries beyond the obvious. The answer came to him quickly. As he realised what was wrong, Hannibal felt a renewed sense of anticipation for the next time he saw Stockwell.

"No, kid, you're hungry." He spoke quietly.

He watched, as Face tried to comprehend this contradiction. For a moment, Hannibal saw a visible stuttering of a usually brilliant brain while he tried to work out how he had been misunderstood. Quick reset as he absorbed all of the words and understood he was being argued with. He shook his head.

"...Not hungry." He breathed. There was an almost comical note of irritation in his voice, as though he was ready for a real argument should Hannibal attempt to make him eat before letting him sleep.

"No." Murdock growled, anger resonating in his voice. "Not hungry. Starving."

He looked at Hannibal for confirmation. Despite the calm of the Colonel's expression, there was something thunderous is his quiet voice.

"I guess Stockwell's not always such a gracious host."

Murdock glanced at Face, but the Lieutenant did not seem to have heard much beyond the fact Hannibal was speaking.

"Just needa lie down..." He slurred, half asking, half informing.

Hannibal gave a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry Face, it's not time to sleep yet. On your feet."

As Murdock and Hannibal pulled him upright, Face fought to open his eyes and keep his head up. Murdock pulled a robe around him. His legs felt like jelly.

"Steady. Take it easy, kid." Hannibal told him softly.

Face vaguely registered that Murdock and Hannibal were talking and that they were right, he hadn't eaten while under Stockwell's hospitality, but he couldn't claim it felt like hunger. It felt a lot like being drunk, except it wasn't enjoyable.

He lost a few seconds somewhere between the bathroom and the kitchen. One minute he was trying to walk, the next minute he was sitting at the kitchen table, holding his head up with one hand while scowling at Hannibal's offering of sustenance. Glucose gel. If there was a more repellent substance in existence, Face didn't know what it was. Sickly sweet sachets of gel carried around in their survival kits like over-enthused boy scouts.

Still, it was fast and didn't require much energy. He was left blinking in confusion as the glucose hit acted like a bucket of cold water and shook the haze from his mind. Hannibal was smirking at him.

"Better?"

"No, now I really am starving." Face pouted as his stomach growled.

"We'll get right to that, but first, let me see your wrists."

He groaned loudly.

"You seeing them is fine. It's very much you poking and prodding them I have reservations about."

Hannibal only laughed at him. As indeed he always did when Face was complaining. Which he did, continuously throughout. Hannibal listened, hearing the slightly forced note to his whining which gave away his nerves.

Understandable, of course. He really hadn't given him much in the way of recovery time. Face was tough, but there wasn't a soldier in existence who could shake off interrogation by their own side with any immediacy. Certainly not in a little over an hour. There was also the fact they were planning to confront Stockwell which was likely to be playing on his mind. And of course, there was Hannibal's question, which even sympathy for Face's really rough week did not prevent him from asking without delay.

"So what's your plan, Face?" He asked over a series of hisses and gasps while he cleaned out the friction burns circling Face's wrists.

"Once we've spoken to Stockwell."

Face looked at him, not surprised, so much as uncomfortable. He read the calm yet pointed tone without any difficulty. The rest of the team had made it clear he was welcome with them and indeed, they wouldn't let him leave until he was recovered. But he _had_ decided to leave. Hannibal wanted to know whether that had changed.

In fact, Hannibal had expected Face to turn up later the same day. He had been first surprised, then concerned, when the days stretched on without word. He had known Face was sick of living under Stockwell's thumb. He had been fully aware that the complete rejection of his suggestion they cut and run by the rest of the team had wounded his ego enough to make him play out his plan B. If they didn't all want to leave, he'd leave on his own. He'd act like it was no big deal, BA and Murdock would sulk, Hannibal would smile and wish him luck, Face would go let off some steam and then find a reason to come back almost immediately.

His nine day absence had come as quite a surprise.

Face had known Hannibal a long time. He knew not a single one of his cons had ever worked on him. He knew Hannibal's cheerful support for his decision to leave had been entirely genuine, because he hadn't thought for a moment Face would really leave for good. There had been a knowing, some would say cocky glint in those eyes as he'd told him he'd miss him. He'd miss him for the few hours or days he actually left.

And he'd been right, in a sense. He had returned to Langley within two days. Only Hannibal hadn't known about it. Stockwell's little intervention forced the colonel to be a little more direct this time. Was he staying or going?

Face looked up at the ceiling for a moment, before meeting Hannibal's eyes.

"How did we get to this? To _Stockwell_ being our only hope?"

Hannibal breathed a soft laugh, shaking his head. It seemed like an evasive answer, but he knew exactly what he meant. They had to stay together. For the time being, together was with Stockwell.

"I wouldn't go quite that far." Hannibal scoffed. "Stockwell's an opportunist. He saw an opportunity and we're using it as ours. If this one doesn't work out, we'll find another way."

Face nodded, looking down and to one side as he always did when he was taking in a plan he did not particularly like. It had always interested Hannibal, that his conman lieutenant was so expressive. It was entirely possible to watch him think. He was not a poker player, he absolutely never kept a straight face. When he was clearly resigned to Hannibal's interpretation of their position, he offered a grim, yet calm view.

"He's power-mad Hannibal. He won't let us go, you have to know that."

"I certainly know he'll need to believe he's doing it on his own terms." With a toothy grin, he finished cleaning up the worst of Face's wounds and left him to dress.

* * *

BA and Murdock were in the den when Hannibal reappeared. Murdock was striding around in the background, seeming to be looking for something. BA was sitting on the floor under an armchair, studying some of Stockwell's many recording devices. Probably those BA had most recently removed.

"He alright?" BA asked as Hannibal returned.

Hannibal sat down on the sofa next to him, smirking as he lit a cigar.

"He's complaining vociferously."

"Oh good." Murdock grinned. BA smiled too, shaking his head. He was fine then.

"Hannibal, what are we gonna do?" BA asked, when Murdock disappeared into the hallway.

Hannibal glanced down at him, finding all traces of amusement gone.

"What are you thinking, BA?"

"Stockwell aint gonna give us our pardons now, if he ever was." He answered immediately. It was a statement, not a question. Unlike Face, BA was not hoping Hannibal would contradict him.

Hannibal chewed on his cigar for a moment. He was a realist, always. But he also suspected he had a handle on Stockwell.

"I don't know about that." He spoke after a pause. "Stockwell is a business man, a pragmatist. He needs a certain number of these missions completed, we want rid of him, he'll want rid of us before we become a liability. I can't imagine he would give up our usefulness because we annoy him. We rarely do anything but."

BA was frowning, shaking his head.

"How do we know when he's done with us he won't throw all of us in his damn basement?" He demanded, not arguing with anything Hannibal had said.

"Or just a nice quiet elimination? Nobody would ever know!"

"No. That's true." Hannibal pondered the question with curiosity rather than fear.

"But I don't see it. He's a soldier, not a killer. We've known from the start his soldier's code is a little more...fluid, than ours. Face violated it somehow."

Murdock joined the pair again just as BA made a noise somewhere close to a growl. He dropped three more bugs into BA's pile with an impish grin. Hannibal smothered a smile and ignored the double interruption.

"I was watching them this afternoon for long enough to know Stockwell wants something from Face. He didn't kill him, didn't turn him in, so we have to assume he wants something." Hannibal's eyes rose as he spoke, tracking Face as he emerged from Hannibal's room.

Hannibal moved across to the far end of the sofa to let him sit. Face flashed him a weary smile.

"Surrender." He said as he sat down. He was limping slightly, holding himself with the awkward stance of a man in pain. He looked exhausted, but his smile was genuine enough.

"After all these years?" Hannibal asked innocently.

"Ha ha." Face glowered at him. "That's what he wanted. He said I was more of a potential wrench in the works in prison and/or executed, so he wanted me to rejoin the team here. Only this time I would understand that Stockwell does not and I quote, _"take being double crossed lightly"_."

Murdock was sitting slumped in an armchair, chin on his chest, legs stretched out in front of him and hands steepled across his middle. He didn't move as he spoke calmly, eyes on his hands.

"Power play. He saw the deal Hannibal made as binding from the moment you guys escaped. He's not going to take one of you going back on that lying down, but it don't mean he doesn't still want the deal to go ahead."

Face stared at him. He was still getting used to this new, focussed personality, mostly sane Murdock.

"Right... Well yes, that was very much the impression he gave me." He gave a familiar, pained smile.

"So, what's the plan, Colonel?"

Hannibal grinned around his cigar.

"The plan is we order a pizza and wait for Stockwell to show."

"Oh." Face said, sounding bemused. "I have to confess it's somewhat simpler than I had imagined…"

"What time is it, Face?" Hannibal asked suddenly.

"What?" Face blinked, not quite managing to keep up.

Hannibal grabbed his wrist and turned his unresisting arm over to read the time.

"Five forty. How long did Stockwell go between visits for the last week or so?"

Realisation was dawning in Face's eyes, alarm and intrigue in one single gleam.

"Not this long." He answered. And if he was waiting longer than usual, there was only one explanation to be assumed. "He already knows I'm here."

"We must have missed a camera somewhere along the lines." Hannibal shrugged.

"Hmm." Murdock made a sceptical noise from his chair.

"What that mean, fool?" BA demanded, sounding a lot like he didn't really want to know.

"Hm? Oh, I was just thinking I want pepperoni. If we're gonna be interrupted by Stockwell though I vote we wait."

"Man I aint waiting for nothing, I'm hungry and if Stockwell is planning to come take us all out I want a decent last meal."

Face's mouth was hanging open, a rare sight of unguarded confusion which made Hannibal laugh. The sound was enough to jolt Face out of his slack-jawed stare between BA and Murdock. His chuckling colonel gave him a final clue as to the reality of Hannibal's plan. They couldn't hope to hide Face's escape from Stockwell's captivity, nor Hannibal's involvement and they were going to make no such attempt.

They were going in through the front door. And they were going together. Face understood why Frankie wasn't there at least. He wondered what bizarre errand Hannibal had sent him on to get him out of the way. To safety, until Stockwell made his move. Frankie had, after all, never agreed to risk his life for Face. They had no doubt that he would if needed, but they wouldn't ask. Not this time.

Face couldn't help smiling at the thought of what on earth Stockwell would find for Frankie to do without the rest of the team, but undoubtedly, if it came to that, he'd find something.

"And uh, should the General not be in the mood for pizza...?" Face asked, audibly reluctant. He wished he'd thought of this nine days ago before he'd left Langley, but he really didn't want to be the reason they lost the deal.

Hannibal thought for a moment, still chewing his cigar.

"I guess we'll find out how many holes he managed to close."

It was not the most comforting of contingency plans.

Still, Face would have to work hard to recall any plans of Hannibal's which had not, in part, filled him with dread. He was not required to offer a response at least, as his stomach growled loudly and prompted the team to move forward with the plan.

Hannibal chose not to ask why Murdock had ordered more pizza than could possibly have been eaten by the four of them, simply calling BA to help him carry a dozen large pizza's of a multitude of topping combinations from the gates to Langley. Hannibal didn't ask, because he had learned over many years that there were no questions to which Murdock did not have perfectly reasonable answers. At least, reasonable to him. Hannibal tended to roll with planet Murdock. It was rather more telling, that Face didn't ask.

Of course, BA had enough questions for all of them.

" _I thought you said you weren't crazy? What the hell is this? Why are there anchovies on two of these? Aint nobody like anchovies. What are we gonna do with all this, fool?"_

Face also did not correct BA on his assertion that nobody liked anchovies. He simply slid one of the boxes BA had discarded in disgust, towards him. He looked a little sickened as he opened the box. However hungry he was, his stomach didn't seem to be enjoying the sights and smells of food after a week.

Hannibal brought four mugs to the den, two coffee, one cocoa and one milk, sitting down beside Face and sliding the second coffee towards him. It might help settle his stomach, or it might just get something into his system, if food wasn't a likely prospect.

While they ate and more honestly, waited for a Stockwell Storm, Hannibal watched Face as discreetly as he could. He was impressed he did manage to eat. For a while, he'd stared at the pizza in his hand as though trying to get it into his mouth with the power of his mind.

It didn't take long, before he began to flag. Leaning back against the sofa, eyes drooping, coffee tipping ominously against his chest. Hannibal reached out and steadied the cup, careful not to jolt him. Cup gently pulled free of lax fingers, he placed a cushion carefully behind Face's head and manoeuvred him until he was lying on his side. He didn't look hugely comfortable lying with his legs still on the floor at a right angle to his body, but Hannibal didn't want to risk waking him.

It was to his amusement and much better hidden relief, that Face wasted no time in groggily rearranging the couch cushions to make himself comfortable. As he elbowed Hannibal repeatedly for space, the colonel figured he must be alright.

He was out for the count by the time Stockwell arrived.

The general paused and surveyed the group in some bewilderment as he joined them. Hannibal took note of this from behind his paper. They were right, clearly, he had known Face had escaped. But there was enough surprise at the scene that greeted him in the den that Hannibal was assured he had not been able to monitor them since.

His stare roved over BA, sitting on the floor at the base of an armchair, tinkering with the remains of bugs he'd dismantled from around the house. To Murdock, squatting in the armchair to his left, balancing a fifth pizza box on an already precarious tower of four.

Finally, he looked across at Hannibal, who had lowered his paper and sat waiting expectantly. There was a cushion wedged beside him on the sofa, trapping his left arm and leg, a former lieutenant asleep on top of it. He didn't stir under Stockwell's stare.

"Evening General." Hannibal spoke quietly. "You'll have to forgive Face, busy day."

Stockwell returned his impassive stare.

"Well, this all looks very cosy." He spoke at last. He didn't sound any different to normal. As though it was of no consequence to him whether Face was there or not. He was an excellent actor.

Face awoke as Stockwell neglected to use the same quiet tone as Hannibal. Hannibal felt him go rigid, but he kept his own attention on Stockwell. There was a beat of tense silence, before Hannibal grinned as Face spoke brightly.

"General! Nice to see you again. You know, in daylight."

Stockwell's jaw set, which for him was positively expressive. He stared at Face, who stayed where he was, comfortably reclined on the sofa as though he didn't have a care in the world. BA continued to fiddle with his broken bugs, while he too watched Stockwell like a hawk. Murdock followed the team's example in keeping Stockwell in his sights, while he slowly raised the lid of the top most box on his tower and extracted a slice of pizza. The silence stretched onwards.

It felt like hours.

"I have a new assignment for you." Stockwell spoke at last.

Hannibal's grin didn't falter.

"No can do, General. We're in need of a little R and R. Next time though."

A heavy file was dropped on the table, threatening Murdock's tower.

"This time, Colonel. You have two days to prepare, but they will be needed. Get any R and R you need in that window, but you all better be ready."

With that, he was gone. For a moment, nobody spoke.

"Man's crazier than you, Murdock." BA exclaimed in a breath.

"I think you'll find I'm the only one here with proven sanity BA." Murdock replied, affronted.

BA just glared at him.

"I gotta agree with BA, Colonel." Face said, rolling his head backwards in an attempt to look at Hannibal without having to move. "He's nuts. He can't seriously just be pretending I never left?"

"Why?" Hannibal questioned breezily. "It's what he wants. He's clearly willing to do whatever it takes to get it." He glanced down at Face and grinned. "Admirable, wouldn't you say?"

Face gave him a less than impressed look.

"Oh, heroic." He rolled his eyes. "Still, nice of him to give us time to plan."

"That mean you're gonna stay Faceman?" Murdock asked, concentration returned to his pizza tower, but a spark of warmth in his voice.

He'd done this dance once already with Hannibal, but Face could acknowledge that BA and Murdock deserved the same truth. He gave a weary smile.

"I can't pretend to be any happier about staying with Stockwell than before Murdock, if anything I think our relationship might have cooled a little bit." He observed, prompting an amused smirk from Murdock and a glare from BA.

"But I'd like to stay with the team, if you'll have me."

BA snorted.

"Got no choice. Aint no way we can finish all that with just three of us." He gestured at Murdock's tower.

"Man makes a good point." Murdock agreed, a teasing smile playing on his face.

Face didn't reply, closing his eyes and shifting against his cushion. He should ask Hannibal what their new mission was. The Colonel had picked up the file as soon as Stockwell had left. The energy to speak was rapidly deserting him. Besides, it was just a mission. Missions were all the same. And since Stockwell, his first roll in any job, of acquiring materials was mostly null and void. It could wait a few hours.

There was a niggling discomfort in the back of his fogged mind. He was weak, he could feel it. Would he be ready for a mission in two days?

Was it possible that Stockwell was really done with him? He'd been joking about their strained relationship, but they had once held a veneer of civility. He had a vision of Stockwell in his basement cell, watching him slowly losing strength. A business requirement? Maybe... If anyone really could be so emotionless, Face would believe Stockwell could. In which case, he had what he wanted. Maybe things really would go back to their strange new normal.

Face gasped and sat up with a jolt, heart hammering against his chest, alarm surging through his body.

For a moment, he couldn't work and where he was, or why, or what might be wrong. Absolute confusion reigned for several seconds, until he became aware of movement behind him.

Hannibal grunted and struggled to his feet.

"Sorry kid, but I can't feel my left side."

Face sat forward gingerly, slowing registering his surroundings, his sleep fogged brain. That nothing more threatening than Hannibal trying to stand up had happened.

"Sorry Colonel." He murmured, hand on his heart, adrenalin still coursing through him.

Hannibal was busy trying to shake the feeling back into his arm, but he smiled a little at Face's befuddled apology.

"Alright, Face I think you better go get some real sleep. Everyone in fact - "

He picked up the file Stockwell had left and waved it at them.

"We're gonna be busy from tomorrow."

It had been a long day. Nobody had any will to argue with Hannibal, even if it seemed unlikely he would lead by example before he'd looked through the mission specs. Hannibal was not a man to waste valuable planning time.

Face was more than willing to obey orders which told him to sleep at that moment. He even allowed Murdock to help him to his room, murmuring something about seeing them all bright and early.

"He aint gonna be ready for a mission in two days, Hannibal." BA spoke as Face and Murdock disappeared.

Hannibal turned, about to brush off BA's doubts with his usual cocky expectation that reality would simply bend to his will. A soft, unusually open expression stopped him dead. He reached out and squeezed BA's shoulder.

"No." He agreed quietly. "But we'll work something out."

Meaning, they would be making no attempt to convince Stockwell of this same truth. BA's disgusted look confirmed his understanding. Hannibal was more than willing to defy Stockwell, particularly when his team were under threat. He was clearly less willing to find out what would happen if he ever simply refused to take on a mission.

If BA had a view he'd been planning to share, he was left disappointed, as one of Stockwell's Abel's appeared and asked Hannibal for a word. BA's expression went from unimpressed to faintly dangerous in an instant.

"It's alright BA, if he meant business he'd surely ask me to step outside first." Hannibal smiled.

"No sense ruining a good rug eh solider?" He asked the Abel, who continued to stare at him humourlessly.

"BA." Hannibal spoke quietly as the other man remained where he was. He would, if he had to, but Hannibal would rather not give a hard order in front of Stockwell's men. Especially not to BA, who might well ignore his orders. Their united front was one of their strongest weapons.

He was relieved, when BA fixed the Abel with a last, murderous glare, before following after Face and Murdock.

"So." Hannibal asked Abel 12 or whoever he was. "Where is he then?"

Hannibal was by no means disappointed. Stockwell was waiting for him on the decking. He appeared to be watching the pool, standing straight, hands interlocked behind him, offering no response to Hannibal joining him until Abel 7 as he turned out to be, had left them alone.

Well, if he was going to take his time, Hannibal was going to have a cigar.

"I suppose you're feeling very pleased with yourself." Stockwell spoke just as he got his lighter in position.

A dark smile crossed Hannibal's face. Power play. Hilarious, really. Stockwell had them over a barrel and he new it. Yet clearly, he was feeling undermined. It was not surprising to Hannibal in the least, that Face was capable of provoking such an irrational feeling.

"What makes you say that?" He asked, once he had his cigar lit.

"You know very well." Stockwell replied without inflection. "I'm not here to play your games. I'm going to keep this direct. When I took on the A-Team I was under the impression that the only battle I would need to fight would be to convince you to do things my way. That you would not necessarily stay together, was not part of the equation. I consider it a liability."

"You mean you consider Face a liability."

"If I did not consider him a valuable asset, he would be awaiting execution as we speak." Stockwell stubbed out his cigarette with his thumb. "To allow the current set up to continue, I need your assurance that you have your team under control, Colonel. There will be no more chances."

Hannibal was silent for several seconds. He took a long drag on his cigar, calming an invisible tumult.

"You have it." He spoke finally, clear and without doubt.

Stockwell turned to look at him for the first time, clearly surprised by his acquiescence. The team were their own men, as Face had proven. To take on responsibility for all of their future actions was absurd. But also, an empty threat. Whether he agreed or did not agree, the outcome would be the same. Stockwell would let a perceived transgression go only once. Hannibal kept his eyes on the pool.

"Your word?" Stockwell requested, after a long pause.

It had interested Hannibal from the start, how much stock the general put by that. He believed the A-Team had honour and he was right, but despite the giving of his own word, they didn't trust him in the least. Hadn't done at any point. Yet Hannibal's word was still enough for him.

This time, Hannibal gave him his full attention.

"You have my word, that myself and my team will complete your missions as agreed, in exchange for a full pardon."

Stockwell's jaw twitched in amusement at the reminder this deal went two ways. He straightened his jacket, squaring his shoulders as he nodded, satisfied, but Hannibal wasn't finished.

"You have my word, that I accept your claim that one of us breached the terms of your deal, in your view. It is for that reason only, that I'm not gonna knock your head off your shoulders right now." Hannibal took a step forward, planting himself in Stockwell's space to demonstrate his complete disinterest in any personal security he had on standby. He was vaguely impressed that Stockwell didn't move a muscle.

"You have my word, that if you ever lay a hand on one of my men again, or order anyone else to do the same..." He smiled, blowing smoke in Stockwell's face. "There will be no more chances."

Stony faced, Stockwell waited for the smoke to dissipate. For Hannibal's stare to become just the faintest bit uncomfortable. He could cut them lose right there and then, Hannibal knew and as much as he didn't like it, he also knew they'd be in trouble without him. BA hadn't been wrong in his point either. Stockwell could make them all disappear and no one would ask questions.

It was so slight, another man might have failed to spot it, but Hannibal saw. The faintest relaxation of Stockwell's stance.

"Then it appears we understand each other, Colonel." He stated with a shark-like smile.

"We have a deal."

Hannibal watched him leave. He was neither stupid nor blind, Stockwell was the most powerful man he had ever associated with. To make an enemy of him would be more than ill advised. He watched the signs of security flanking the General, thinking they were invisible. Idiots, but idiots with an arsenal, who could certainly eliminate the A-Team if they so chose.

But he very nearly had done. This, quietly indignant man with whom they'd thrown in their lot could very easily have killed one of the team before the others knew where to look. Would he have stopped before that inevitable end, had Hannibal not intervened? He had rescued all of his men and been rescued by them, from any number of unpleasant scenes. The one in Stockwell's basement was no different. Face had seen worse.

It was one specific detail, Hannibal struggled to accept. Face had been convinced the team wouldn't risk opposing Stockwell, for him. Wouldn't take the risk Hannibal was quantifying even as Stockwell and his army disappeared into the night.

Hannibal's jaw set in a grim line, taking satisfaction in the split-second surprise his threat had caused Stockwell. He'd agreed to Hannibal's terms, for the moment.

" _We have a deal."_

Hannibal chewed his cigar as he returned to the house.

"For your sake, General, I hope so."


End file.
